There Are a 101 Ways Into Sherlock's Heart
by Love is a Mayer
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is absolutely clueless when it comes to romance. John makes it his mission to show Sherlock what it can do to a person. 101 one shots of Johnlock.
1. Conversation

**_Here's the first chapt of the 101 Johnlock oneshots! This chapter is mostly somehwat diologue so that I could get a sense of their speaking patterns. Don't forget that you can suggest a prompt in my messages. So, please enjoy and don't forget to review!^-^_**

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Their relationship wasn't exactly fairy tale book material. It wasn't even teenage dreams material, if you thought about it. Sherlock and John never hugged in public, they never talked romantically, and, if John wanted to admit it, they rarely, if ever, kissed.

Though, if you really looked, you could see the warm gaze Sherlock sent John's way whenever the army doctor turned his back, or the way the skin wrinkled around John's eyes when Sherlock was exceptionally ignorant. It was love, but a quieter, renounced one, if anything. And to be honest, it was the only one the two wanted.

"Do you honestly have to do that by the body, Sherlock?"

The cold London wind whipped against the consulting detectives pale face as he bent over a man's body, one that mysteriously appeared there in front of the Barber shop earlier that morning.

"Of course, John. How will I possible ever acquire enough data for my experiment? You're a doctor, figure it out. Or better yet, go do something useful like buying some more French tea."

"But, Sherlock, you're allergic to French tea."

"I could've sworn you were smarter this morning, John" Sherlock snapped, rising until he was right in front of the blonde man. "It's not for me; it's for my experiment back at the flat. This was just a suicide, not worth my time, and defiantly not worth yours either."

The detective smiled once before he dramatically turned on his heel, no doubt already thinking about his next experiment.

"Wait," John called out as he ran to catch up. "Then how did it get all the way over to the bloody Barber shop?"

"Think of the facts, John! A jogger saw it on their walk and got scared. Not wanting to touch it, but too human to leave it under the secluded bridge, they brought it here, possibly the only thing they could have done. Now, the tea if you wouldn't mind."

John stopped midstride while Sherlock crossed the street with only a wave to signal his love. "I love you too," he muttered under his breath. It didn't really shock him that Sherlock acted so cold. It was how the guy was and always would be, and maybe, if John was strong enough to stay with him, he could chip away the cold armor Sherlock wore.


	2. Sweater

John Watson was known for many things, but being a complete and utter arse wasn't one of them. He was an exceptionally talented doctor, had a kind personality, and tended to wear the weirdest sweaters Sherlock had ever seen. It was a god awful quirk the doctor had, but in truth Sherlock would never change it for anything. If John could put up with his constant experiments and mood swings, the least he could do was tolerate the abomination's John sometimes wore. Though, as he stood in their flat that morning, a cup of tea in hand, it was hard _not_ to want to scream out loud when John stepped out of his room.

"Hey, you got the tea started?" John asked nonchalantly as he shuffled into the kitchen. He sidestepped the dead body parts scattered on the floor with a rather confused face. "I see you've been experimenting again, Sherlock."

"Your sweater is hideous," Sherlock blurted out as he took a seat in his favorite chair.

Though, for Sherlock's sake, John hadn't heard it above the roar of the garbage truck outside. "Hmm, what did you say?"

"Um, nothing. Good morning."

"Good morning?" a confused John answered back as he took the seat across from Sherlock.

"So, do you have any cases for today? Or was making our kitchen into a morgue all you had planned?"

Sherlock looked up at the blonde man, completely and utterly in deep concentration. "What?" he asked distracted.

"Are you okay, Sherlock? I can get you some-"

"John, I'm sorry but I can't sit here knowing you agreed to wear that sweater! It's an absolute tragedy, and I can't let you out of this flat in it!"

This time, however, there wasn't a miracle to hide Sherlock's mistake. With an exasperated look, John glanced down at his soft grey sweater. It was knitted by his mother, yes, and it had black elegant swirls across the chest area, but in no way was it a tragedy. In fact, most of his friends had complimented him on it and had even asked for one themselves.

"What are you talking about? I quite like this one. And who are you to say what I can and cannot wear?"

"Oh god, that again? It's important to me whether people laugh at you!"

"Laugh at me, what are you talking about? No one does that, Sherlock. It's not primary school; I think they have better stuff to do then laugh at a sweater."

A quiet snort came from the consulting detective as he sipped his tea. "They do little else."

At that, John's face burned bright red with embarrassment. "Who laughs, Sherlock?"

"No one, John. It's not important anymore."

"No, you were so keen to poke fun at me about my sweater. So, why can't you tell me the names?"

Sherlock glanced at John knowing he was going to have to tell the blonde man eventually. But, as Sherlock rose up out of his seat, he would try to prolong it as long as possible.

"Lestrade mentioned the killer from last week. That guy was clever enough to hide the body in the wall as I suspected. Those murderers are brilliant; I love the brilliant ones- they always keep-"

"Sherlock!"

The taller man stopped his pacing and removed his hands from his lips. "You want to know the names, I suppose?"

"Of course I want to know the bloody names!" In his anger, John hadn't even known he'd gotten out of his seat until he was standing inches from Sherlock's face.

"Lestrade and Donavan, and the whole Yard," he whispered.

The alarmingly bright shade of red that had previously been on the doctors face turned to a muddy green in a matter of seconds. "All of them?"

"Yes. Oh, perhaps I should mention that Mycroft and his assistant were laughing too. Though, he laughs at anything in his puny world."

John's eyes began to tear up, something that made Sherlock's heart shatter in the weirdest way. He had never been one for love and found it rather useless in the end. But when John, his John, started to cry, over something he'd said, well it was enough to make him broken.

"John," Sherlock began, but was cut off by a quick kiss.

"Thank you."

"Wait, for what?"

"For finally telling the truth, above all else." John shrugged with a big smile, the ghost of tears being wiped away as he reclaimed his seat on the sofa.

"I'm not following? Why aren't you crying anymore?"

"I was testing you, obviously. It was for my own little experiment. It doesn't matter to me whether they like my sweater or not," John said simply, his little smirk growing bigger.

"Then you- you weren't really sad at what I told you?"

"Not in the slightest."

Sherlock stood in the middle of the flat for a few moments in complete shock before he sat down and wrapped an arm around the doctor.

"Well, were you findings conclusive?" Sherlock whispered, nibbling John's ear.

"Quite right, in fact."


	3. Texts

**_Just some texts between Sherlock, John, and Lestrade. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review and suggest a prompt^-^_**

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John, I am in need of your assistance-SH

**I'm in the middle of something. Can't it wait?-JW**

No, not at the moment-SH

**Yeah, well I can't really get out of this, seeing as it's my job. Couldn't you get Mycroft to help you with whatever you've done to yourself? - JW**

Why call my boring brother when I could get someone more delightfully interesting? – SH

**Well, what is it? What have you gotten into this time, Sherlock? Don't tell me you've broken into the Queen's palace again-JW**

I've found something far more interesting than breaking the Queens Security codes, John. Stop being and idiot-SH

**Hey-JW**

No no no, don't be like that. Practically everyone is-SH

**You know, I'm not liking where this is going-JW**

Are you coming to get me or not?-SH

**What, you want me to come get you now? - JW**

That is what I just said, yes-SH

**I'm in the middle of work! And I feel like I've already said this.-JW**

That is because you did say that earlier-SH

**So then why are you texting me when you could easily get Lestrade or Mycroft?-JW**

Lestrade is working a case that I have no interest in, and I've already informed you about Mycroft-SH

**Yeah, I guess you did. Okay, Sherlock, I'll pick up in ten minutes. Where are you, anyways-JW**

Good, fine. I'm in jail-SH

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Hey, Greg? - JW

**Yeah? – Lestrade**

Has Sherlock been acting weird lately? – JW

**No more than usual, why? -Lestrade**

I don't know how to explain it. I think he's trying to be nice to me. –JW

**Sherlock? Being nice to someone? Get as far away from him as possible, and sever all ties to anyone in London! - Lestrade**

I'm serious, Greg. It's weird; he's making me breakfast and giving me a back massage. Should I be worried? –JW

**John, the only thing you need to be worried about is me stealing him from you. If he stays like this, call me over. I've got a horrible back ache and Mycroft can't seem to massage it out- Lestrade**

So what you're saying is that I should embrace this new side of Sherlock? – JW

**Pretty much. You might never see it again- Lestrade**


	4. Eyes

**_I got inspired by a picture on tumblr. Sherlock has the most amazing eyes ever!^-^ Anyways enjoy:D_**

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If it was true that the eyes were the window into the soul then John was going to have to rethink some things. He didn't usually muddle around with such trivial folklore, and seeing that Sherlock detested that sort of thinking because it was boring, and mind numbing, well it didn't leave him a whole lot of room to study it.

But no matter how many times John tried not to stare at Sherlock's eyes, he couldn't stop thinking about the story. Apparently, the brighter the mix of color was, the purer the soul you had. And John truly believed that as he and Sherlock stood in Lestrade's office, gazing into the magnificent orbs.

"John!" Sherlock snapped impatiently. From the way his voice had raised, it was obvious he had been trying to get John's attention for a while. How he loved the way Sherlock's eyes brightened further when he was mad.

"What is it?" John answered finally.

"I've been calling your name for two minutes."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was just thinking."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something further but then stopped a moment to rethink it. "I can't just stand here while Lestrade gets to have all the fun," he finally said after a moment.

"Well, it was blue-_you _that caught the guy." John glanced at the ground silently cursing his self for letting his mind wonder.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, quickly confused. "But he won't know what to check for when the body arrives!"

"Who better then blue- _you_ to check it." Another silent curse.

For a second, Sherlock stopped his pacing to stand side by side with John. "Are you okay, John," he asked quietly.

"Yeah, yeah! Totally fine, brilliant in fact," John blurted out.

Maybe just a little too quickly, Sherlock thought as his eyes flicked back and forth, assessing John's state.

_Oh god, not those eyes again! _John adverted his own, not wanting to see the sensual pools of crystal blue- green for fear of fainting. Who could blame him though, with eyes like that… a calm ocean of blue and green swirling around an endless galaxy. Sherlock's eyes were his home, his memories and shelter, and they were also John's home, his space, his escape, and his beautiful world.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Sherlock murmured with a tender kiss to John's forehead.

"Okay, yeah. I'll get some rest, Sherlock. Just don't go and do something stupid again."

"I was bored."

"Fantastic," John breathed against Sherlock's lips as he untangled his body.

"I love you, John," Sherlock called out when the shorter man had opened the door.

"I love you blue-_too,_ bloody hell."


	5. Mud

**_This is just sort of a short chapter to cure my boredom for the moment. It's a little argument between Sherlock and John but nothing bad because they'd patch it up in a second!^-^ So enjoy, and please review!_**

**_Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock at all or John and Sherlock would've kissed by now XD_**

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"What happened to the bloody carpet?!"

"Keep it down, John. I'm in the middle of transferring acid."

"Why is it that whenever I go out of town for a couple of days, you have the nerve to trash this place?" John barked out as he hung up his jumper. "You can't even behave for a week."

The consulting detective glanced at John as he adjusted the lenses on his microscope. "I've angered you."

"That's a good- good deduction. Yeah."

"Look John, I'll clean it up after I'm done here."

"Really, Sherlock," John asked with just a hint of doubt in his voice as he kicked the flat's rug.

"No, not really. You've grown a beard over the weekend. Can't say that I like it."

"Stop changing the subject like you always do, Sherlock! You've tracked mud all over the rug, and Mrs. Hudson's going to be bloody mad."

"She'll get over it eventually."

John clambered into the kitchen with a look of distaste on his face whilst holding a pair of muddy trouser for Sherlock to see. "Really, my underwear too? You've got to take more responsibility for what you do, love. You're not a sodding kid anymore."

Sherlock rolled his eyes briefly as he leant in to the microscope. "It was for an experiment. Oh, and I should mention that you need to buy more jumpers. They didn't survive the fire like I thought they would."

"The fire-oh you know what, never mind. I don't think I want to know, and before I lose itr, do you want me to make you anything?"

"Just tea for me, thanks. And John?"

"Hmm?"

"I missed you."

Even though Sherlock could be a pain in the arse sometimes, and annoyed John to no end with the hurtful deductions, he was the greatest man the doctor had ever laid eyes on. And he was proud to call the consulting detective his boyfriend.

"I missed you too," John smiled as he started picking up Sherlock's mess, something he'd be doing forever because Sherlock needed him to do it, because no one else would, and that was the way it was always supposed to be.


End file.
